


If You Let Me

by adrift_me



Series: Dishonored Rarepair Collection [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Corvo speaks a lot and cares even more so, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, with a quick resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: "There is place in me for another person to care for. I would hate to see them fall to this dreadful plague.In the wake of the lethal disease, spreading throughout the city, Geoff Curnow and Corvo Attano find out there are a great many people to care about. And even more so - to carefor.





	If You Let Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something for this lovely rarepair, and a kind anon prompted me on tumblr for whole 2 ideas. So here it is!
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also would love to get some prompts.](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/ask)

With the rat plague becoming an issue more and more by day, the city falls to mild panic. There is no outcry yet, as there are there barely any victims. Coughing, blood in lungs and worried relatives by increased number, but few Weepers. At least so it seems when you walk Dunwall’s streets, always busy, always postcard pretty. A beautiful lie.

Geoff Curnow has seen Dunwall’s insides through and through, like a surgeon sees the patient. He knows that the rat plague has reached its terrible tendrils much deeper than it seems at the first glance. That there  _ are _ victims. Those, who are not rich enough to afford a proper place of living, those, whose pockets don’t clink-clank with coins, those who are unfortunate by the lack of luck, are the ones who became the Weepers, flooding the lower districts, sewers. And dying there, unknown to the public that stows away lingots for better times.

“It is the Empress’s request that we increase patrols around the city,” Corvo says when he and Curnow meet in a small chamber with a map of the city’s sewers and streets spread on a table. The light is dim and the air feels stifling, sticky even. Bitter. Curnow winces.

“And Lord Spymaster wants me to plead with the Overseers on account of their forces. I am not certain this is necessary,” Geoff remarks, scraps of his previous conversation with Burrows still echoing in his mind.

“I agree,” Corvo says curtly and falls quiet entirely. His hands are sprawled on the map as he studies it and his thick brows are furrowed. Geoff realises he is staring and looks away, flushed.

There are many things he admires about Corvo. Of course, his wit and strength that earned him the place of the Lord Protector in the first place. The fact that this man wooed the Empress is yet another item of admiration. And that Corvo happens to be a handsome attractive man, who is desirable both by appearance and mind, is a lucky coincidence, one that Curnow is neither brave nor ignoble enough to pursue. 

“Geoff?”

Corvo’s heavy eyes twinkle in the dim light as he gazes up at his companion.

“Pardon me, Corvo. I have gotten lost in my thoughts,” Geoff pleads and receives a small smile from the man.

“It is no bother. Now, we do need to focus, however, and present at least a draft, and at best - a complete new route of patrols around the city. This is not effective if we don’t plan to offer any help, however. It should not hurt the hospitals, if we assign a physician to each squad and provide the minimum of needed supplies to treat the sick.”

Geoff leans over the map too now, avoiding hitting the low hanging lamp with his head.

“Yes, but without eradicating the source, our efforts are futile.”

“Surely, you don’t suggest we track down and kill all rats,” Corvo laughs a little and so does Geoff. Their laughter makes him breathe easier, but only for a moment, until simmering anxiety takes over Geoff again.

“No, that wouldn’t be effective at the very least because there are Weepers now too. One drop of their blood - and you are as good as them without any treatment.”

Both men sigh. Curnow feels like going in circles. 

They study the map in silence for a few moments longer, accompanied by the soft buzz of the lamp and the echoing footsteps outside the room. There are fast steps then, and Miss Emily’s voice sings outside the door.

“May I come in? Please?” she bugs the guards who gently guide her away. Geoff steals a glance at Corvo who isn’t looking at the door, but is smiling nonetheless. It’s a gentle, fond smile that he fails to hide behind the falling locks of hair.

As if by Geoff’s thought cue, Corvo brushes locks away behind his ear. And looks at him.

“How is Callista?” he asks, looking away and back to the map. His eyes are focused on it, but Geoff’s aren’t, and he sees a faint blush on Corvo’s cheeks. Is he disturbed by Emily’s small intrusion outside? Of course, not many people know that she is his blood and flesh, his and Jessamine’s, but Curnow has the privilege of a truly good friend to know.

“I haven’t heard from her for months now. Ever since she ran away from home, I haven’t had a word. My only hopes are that she is alive and well. Perhaps, off this cursed isle, settling her life in a happier place,” Geoff says, and when the last words escape his mouth, he realises just how much he said. His lips feel crackling dry and his throat is scratching.

And his heart races, because Corvo covers his hand warmly, protectively, and curls fingers over his in a fond strong hold.

“This is my wish too, Geoff. If you wish me to put out feelers to learn her location, I shall do so right away,” Corvo says, his hand remaining a heavy cover of safety over Curnow’s trembling fingers.

“No, but thank you, friend. If Callista wishes to, she knows where to find me and will contact me.”

_ If she is still alive  _ remains hanging in the air unsaid. 

“Geoff--”

What Corvo attempts to say is drowned by the piercing wail of the siren, calling for the change of the Tower patrol. Why this sound has to be so disgusting, Curnow does not know, but it makes him tear his hand out of Corvo’s hold, while the Lord Protector himself makes a small step aside.

They proceed to discuss the plan as if nothing happened, but Geoff’s mind is foggy, dazed. His hand is tingling pleasantly, even as he keeps it out of Corvo’s reach. What was the meaning of such a gesture of affection Geoff fails to understand.

They remain in the room for a few long hours more. There are no windows to indicate the change of daytime, with the sun dipping into the horizon and the city slowly unfurling into its night glory of guest visits, walks, people heading home. They are brought a meal to share in the room, fruit and cold smoked meat and a jug of cold tart Gristol cider. It tastes sharp on their tongues, but it also seems to untie those very tongues.

“I have never felt so hopeless, Geoff,” Corvo confesses, setting aside his small glass and gazing at the abandoned map where a few landmarks have been scattered. “Thousands of people are in need of help, and there is little I can do. Changing the patrols is not an option. Nor is it a solution. My hands are tied, and I fear tomorrow we might wake up to many more Weepers than crawl the sewers tonight.”

“Have faith,” Geoff says, feeling rather sober. They have only had one glass each, making neither drunk, but that seems to have been enough to make Corvo a little bit more talkative. And Geoff can’t help but enjoy the low rumble of his voice.

“You, my friend, are a good man. And the Empress will take note of your suggestions when we present them to her,” Corvo points out, looking at Curnow from across the table. There is creaking of leather and Curnow feels weight shifting between his feet. As if seeking comfort, Corvo pushes one of his boots to rest there, grounding.

“Geoff,” he says heavily, and the tone is one that asks for attention. And so Geoff listens, looking back at Corvo even if it costs him plenty of nerves, boldness and heartbeat. Corvo hums, and proceeds. “There is a whole Empire that I care about. But who I care  _ for _ … Jessamine, my love. My beautiful dear daughter Emily.”

Geoff breathes in and then forgets about oxygen entirely. His hands busy themselves with a glass, rotating it slightly under trembling fingers.

“Jessamine has long stated that we are not entitled to each other. That nature of our relationship always suggests there is a possibility of never sharing our life paths, even if we are bound with a daughter we both love and with affection that still blossoms. But she does not mind the possibility of me developing affections elsewhere. There is place in me for another person to care for. I would hate to see them fall to this dreadful plague.”

Geoff swallows dryly and lets go of the glass, settling it with a slight rumble against the wooden surface. It stops, and he gathers courage with it.

“And are there such affections to be developed? Or have they already made way in your heart?”

They rise together as if by a command. Soft creaking of chairs, wood on stone floor, quiet rustle of their coats and the clinking of the swords, fixed on the belts. An awful lot of noise, Geoff thinks, for a room so small. And so little air that he struggles to breathe. Why is it such an effort, especially when Corvo stands so close, invading his space drastically and yet welcomed.

What happens next Geoff will always remember as a whirlwind, even if it didn’t happen as swift as his memory holds it. If anything, those were the most torturous slow minutes of his life.

Corvo’s hand is on his cheek and a rough thumb is stroking his cheekbone. Geoff sighs inadvertently, catching the gesture all too late. The touch is familiar only by that time when he courted a young man all those years ago. Oh how they held each other’s faces, how they kissed by the dim candlelight. How they whispered vows and promises that turned void the moment Geoff’s sword pierced his lover’s chest.

He tries not to think about it.

“You are always so thoughtful, Geoff, and it challenges me to want to know what occupies your mind,” Corvo says, his breathing soft and tickling on the other’s lips. Curnow trembles, not at all fitting his age. Shouldn’t he be a passionate experienced lover? Why does he have to tremble like a youngster whose first kiss was about to happen?

“Many things happened to me, Corvo. I reminisce and apply to present,” Geoff explains vaguely, shifting forward with what remainders of courage he plucks up. Corvo smiles, lines on his face softening fondly.

“If you let me…”

He does. Corvo leans in, and they kiss. Simply kiss, lips trapped within each other’s dryly and tasting of cigars and cider. It’s nothing like poets describe, sweet Rivera wines or Bastillian peaches, it’s rough and strange. But it is the idea, the fact, that Corvo kisses him, that makes Geoff’s mind sway and turn and he has to reach out, drape arms around the Lord Protector for safety, for stability.

The kiss breaks apart soon, all too quick, but the embrace doesn’t. Corvo nuzzles against Curnow’s face gently and clenches strong arms around him, fingers digging in rough fabric of the guard uniform coat. They breathe softly, feeling that cider and cigars strongly off each other’s mouths. But such good things often come to an end, if temporary.

As it turns out, not for much longer.

It takes days to enroll the new routes and rules. It takes weeks to realise that they were right and that the plague cannot be defeated by more incompetent men, raiding the streets. It takes more weeks to travel about the Isles, together, undivided, affectionate, seeking help against the plague and supporting each other with love.

It takes months for them to be separated. Long months where Curnow thinks Corvo lost to the Void. And in a way, it turns out, he is.

The next time they meet, they are strangers to get acquainted anew. Curnow is stronger in his mind and more bruised by holding onto life in the savage regime of Burrows. Corvo is quieter, more vigilant, more wary. And his hand hides a secret, hidden beneath a strap of black fabric. A secret that he reveals to Curnow when they get a chance of intimacy, not one that involves naked bodies, but one where they remain undisturbed and close as those months ago.

“I am glad you lived,” Geoff confesses. Corvo looks at him heavily, eyes dark and sunken beneath the soft fringe of his hair. It’s shorter, cut fashionably but still wildly, retaining the wildness of locks. As he watches, he slowly unwraps the strap, thoughtfully, measuredly.

“As am I,” he replies curtly, his voice only barely gentle. The strap falls free and its absence reveals the starking black mark on his hand.

“When the conspiracy took place, there were a great many fates changing, Geoff. Mine, Emily’s. Jessamine’s, put out like a candle flame. No one walked out unscarred, and, perhaps, I am scarred most of all. This, however, is my award. My grace. This here is my salvation.”

Geoff looks at it and then flickers a slightly disappointed gaze at Corvo.

“I shall not name you a heretic. You have never been faithful in the first place.”

Corvo smiles.

“I have more means now to protect those I care about. In fact, I have already employed it, over and over. Do you remember, friend,” Corvo says, approaching and inquisitively reaching for Geoff’s hand, which he agrees to offer. Corvo plants a kiss on it dryly, “when you woke up among garbage and waste.”

Geoff laughs, oh he remembers it vividly. The coat did not survive the stench.

“I do.”

“Have you wondered whose doing it was? First, you walked by Campbell’s side, next, you were hidden away from hostile Overseers, from the Weepers, from any threat.”

Geoff looks at him in disbelief, but after all, what else could be so surprising about this man. His heart swells.

Corvo never says it out loud, that he saved Geoff, that Curnow owes him his life. That, perhaps, he owes Corvo for keeping Callista safe, allowing for them to reunite at last.

Gratitude, however, is much more tangible, and Geoff’s lips are dry and yet persistent against Corvo’s, arms around each other, heartbeats breaking through the rib cages.

There are many new beginnings when the rat plague is over. But some stories simply pick up where they left.


End file.
